


Romeo and Cinderella

by deepestfathoms



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Affairs, Gen, Guilt, Hallucinations, Panic Attacks, Sickfic, Statutory Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms
Summary: Someone had a secret.Someone had an affair with the king.
Kudos: 17





	Romeo and Cinderella

The physical pain Joan’s body wielded could not compare to her mental pain. In retaliation to her attempt to silence the voices that had been whispering in her ears all night long, they began toiling over in her skull, laying a permanent fog over her thought process and making so many simple things–

Joan lurched over on the spot as she nearly tumbled straight down the staircase.

–like walking, for example, a dangerous act in and of itself.

She was so tired, physically and emotionally. It’s not like sleep ever came easy for her due to her frequent insomnia, but all these thoughts inside of her head just made it ten times worse. Everything seemed to be yelling loud enough for the damned to hear. Joan’s misty mind was filled to the brim with it, and the girl could swear she heard it echoing off the theater walls around her. A long, bloodcurdling scream that never ended.

All because of something she did out of desperation.

None of the others knew why she was acting like this. For all they knew, she was just being dreary from her lack of caffeine. Yes, that was it. Lucky little trauma-free, doesn’t-know-what-it’s-like-to-suffer Joan just didn’t have enough coffee in her system. What else could be going on? She didn’t have anything bad happen to her. Hell, she couldn’t even remember most of her memories, which was said to be a blessing by several of the queens, while they were all cursed. She should be thankful.

But she wasn’t.

Because she did remember the worst parts of her life. And, at first, she thought it was the horrific deaths of her queens, but then something else surfaced from her mind and she hasn’t stopped feeling ill ever since.

She was not a good person.

Joan staggered up the last step on the Stairs of Doom, but tried to make her momentary loss of balance look as natural as possible. She leaned against the wall for a moment, letting her eyes flutter shut. For once, reaching hands and grotesque naked bodies did not flash behind her eyelids. She panted like a tired dog and went to walk to her dressing room, but could not find the energy to move. The world was starting to blur together, sound and feeling becoming one.

Would it hurt to rest for just a minute? Just for a minute…

“Joan?”

That sound, a sound so beautifully sharp.

“Are you alright, Joan?”

A commanding tone, a beautifully sharp commanding tone.

A new feeling formed on the top of her head, one that gave the girl an ungodly burst of strength. In a split second she was upright, still trembling despite the warm temperature in the theater, and looked up at Aragon with what could only be known as relief.

“I assure you the chairs and couch are much more comfortable than the wall.” The Spanish queen said. She peered at Joan closely. “Are you okay?”

Joan said nothing in response; she didn’t even react to the woman’s presence. Her eyes were glassy, making her almost look blind.

Aragon sensed something was wrong. She bent down to Joan’s height, angling her chin to look up at her.

“Look at me, dear.”

Thoughts were trying to push their way through the fog. Thoughts that, if Aragon were able to read minds, she would certainly have smacked Joan for them.

Although it would not be unwelcome…

“Joan!”

Joan snapped her attention back to the Spanish queen, using her wobbly legs to make a small distance between them. The thoughts were still whirling in her mind.

Aragon is frowning in worry and confusion. She set a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“What has happened to you? You are usually more attentive than this…”

A simple thought was fighting its way through the fog.

Gut

Oh how Joan wished Aragon would just _GUT_ her, if only so that these disgusting memories could repeat no longer.

“Why don’t you lay down?” Aragon suggested, guiding Joan into her own dressing room and over to the sofa, making sure not to accidentally tug on her obviously fragile body. Luckily, she’s able to get the young lady in waiting to lie down and rest until the others get back, but the peaceful reverie doesn’t last long.

Joan flinched hard and her eyes shot open. Everything was dark. She couldn’t remember where she was and she couldn’t see anything at all to even begin to piece it together. Two hands were on her shoulders, pinning her down and her heart leapt into her mouth. Where was she? Who was on her? What were they going to do to her?

Joan grabbed the wrists holding her down and twisted them sharply.

There was a cry above her and Joan used the brief lack of pressure on her shoulders to shove the hands away and push herself up. She didn’t know where the person was; her eyes hadn’t adapted to the darkness enough–it was so dark. why was it dark? wasn’t it morning? is she in their house? is she trapped? she’s so scared–to make them out, but they had made the mistake of sitting beside her and not on her to keep her pinned down, and Joan took her chance to escape. She dove left, hopefully out of reach of anyone in the room but she didn’t know where she was going and very quickly found herself on the cold, hard ground. She spasmed and strong hands pulled her up.

“Joan? Joan, darling, it’s okay.”

For a moment, Joan faltered. She had been expecting a man’s voice. This wasn’t that. She didn’t know what to do with this.

Joan blinked hard in the darkness, trying to force her eyes to adjust to it. Her heart was thumping in her chest and her whole body was tense, ready to make another blind run for it if she got a chance. Her ears strained for any sound of movement; any footsteps or a rustle of clothing that would tell her someone was trying to get closer. Hell, she didn’t even know how many people were in this room or how many could see her. She couldn’t hear anything over her own uneven breaths and the blood roaring in her ears.

“Joan, can you hear me?” The voice asked gently. “It’s me. It’s Catalina. You’re safe here, we’re at the theater. I’m sorry if I startled you. You looked so tired so I shut the lights off and closed the curtains to let you rest.”

Joan felt shivers cascade down her arms and over her thighs. No, it couldn’t be. She was taken.

“Joan, you’re safe here. It’s Catalina. We’re in my dressing room, remember? I brought you in here five minutes ago. You’re safe, darling, nobody’s coming for you. I’m going to turn on one of the lights now so you can see for yourself, okay?”

Joan winced as a lamp flickered to life and lit up the room. She expected to open her eyes to a king standing above her with a lust-filled smirk. Instead what she saw was a regular dressing room with makeup tables and vanities and chairs. And, there right beside her, was Catherine of Aragon, eyes warm and watching Joan with a soft smile, hands held low and in front of her, palms down, like she was trying to soothe a cornered animal. Everything about this was wrong.

“Catalina?” Joan croaked, surprised at how raspy her voice sounded. She hadn’t noticed how dry her throat was until her voice caught in the back of it and the name barely left her lips.

Still, Aragon’s smile widened but her eyes were still sad and Joan’s heart seized.

“It’s me, Joan. I’m here.”

“He’s here,” Was Joan’s immediate response. Something about this was wrong.

“No, sweetie,” Aragon’s voice was soft and calm and Joan’s heart was making a cacophony in her chest, harmonizing with her ragged breathing and her blood rushing through her veins and the hundred of awful thoughts shrieking inside of her head. “Nobody is here to hurt you. You’re safe.”

“No, I’m- I’m- I’m-″ Joan didn’t know how she meant to finish that sentence. 

“Joan, honey, where do you think you are?” Aragon’s voice was still so gentle, so careful. Tiny movements, soft and delicate, like she was handling spun glass.

“Castle.” Joan was certain of it.

“You’re not in the castle anymore, Joan. You aren’t. You‘re free. You’re in London, at the theater we both work at with the other queens and Ladies.”

Joan looked back at Aragon. The woman hadn’t moved from her spot and her hands were still held out in front of her, low and palms towards the floor.

“Can you try again?” Aragon asked, keeping her eyes trained on Joan as she fought through the whirlwind of thoughts battering around inside her skull. “Where do you think we are?”

Joan looked around the room again and tightened her hands into fists at her sides. Her fingernails dug into her palms, leaving a trail of red crescents etched into her skin. She shivered, soaked in cold sweat, although it felt more like hot, sticky–

“I’m not…I’m not in the castle?” Joan tried but it was still a question. It wasn’t something tangible and real that she could cling onto and the words sat funny in the back of her throat and she felt like she needed to swallow them down again.

“You’re not in the castle, that’s right.”

“I’m not in the castle,” Joan repeated and it felt better this time. More solid. More like it could be true.

“You’re in London, at the theater, in my dressing room.” Aragon told her again.

“Dressing room,” Joan echoed softly.

“It’s okay, Joan. You’re safe. You’re in London and no one is going to hurt you anymore,” Aragon continued gently. “You’re having a panic attack, sweetie.”

No wonder why Joan couldn’t breathe. Her chest was tight and her ears were ringing and she felt like there was a target painted onto her back. She pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her, feeling just a touch safer knowing that no one could sneak up behind her when she was like this.

“Can you try breathing with me? Nice and slow, in through your nose and then out through your mouth.”

Joan forced her eyes to stay on Aragon as she shuffled slowly towards her, closing the gap between them. She held out a hand to Joan, but she couldn’t move to take it. Instead, she nodded stiffly to let Aragon know she had heard her and clenched her hands against the plaster. Her knuckles were stiff as she spread her weight from her palms onto her fingers, and Joan pressed more of her weight backwards until a dull pain blossomed in the joints. It gave her something she could trust to focus on. The pain was real, even if the rest was questionable.

She took a shaky breath in with Aragon and tried to hold it but her lungs were too shallow to match what Aragon was doing. Her chest burned as she tried to hold the air in place and Joan choked on the breath and gasped, forcing more air into her already full lungs. It felt like drowning, and Joan made a pained whimper as flashes of black spots clouded her vision. She was helpless, lost in the force of the ocean waves. She couldn’t tell which way was up or down or where the shore was and then suddenly, someone had laced their fingers around hers and Joan squeezed tightly onto her lifeline.

“-hear me? Joan? It’s okay, I promise it’s okay, nothing’s happening, you’re not in danger. You’re safe here. Can you even hear me? What do I do if you can’t hear me? Joan, I’m right here, it’s Catalina, I’m here and I’ve got you, okay? I’m not leaving you.”

“Catalina?” Joan rasped, and she felt the fingers intertwined with hers give a tiny reassuring squeeze.

“Yes, that’s right. It’s me, I’m still here. It’s just you and me, darling, nobody else. Can you open your eyes for me? Please?” Aragon’s voice was much closer to her ear now and slightly more frantic than it had been a minute ago. Joan could hear it tinged into her assurances.

She hadn’t even realized her eyes were closed until Aragon asked her to open them again. She blinked them open slowly, squinting in the light. She was still hunched against the wall but Aragon was next to her now, holding her hand. Joan was looking down at her own chest which was heaving with her efforts to breathe.

Aragon smiled at her effort and reached her other hand up to brush some of the strands back from Joan’s sweaty forehead. Joan closed her eyes and exhaled quietly, leaning into the gentle touch as Aragon fingertips dragged across her temple and sent shivers down her arms.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Aragon soothed her, brushing her fingers through Joan’s hair and over the shell of her ear. Joan fell silent, listening to Aragon’s breathing and tried to match her own to it. It was easier standing together like this, when Joan could know Aragon was really there.

And then, the door swung open.

“WE GOT DONUTS!!”

Joan dug her fingernails deep into Aragon’s knuckles when Kitty suddenly yelled while making her entrance. When the other queens noticed what was happening, Cleves lunged forward to cover her friend’s mouth before she could start babbling again. Aragon doesn’t even acknowledge their existence; she was too focused on calming the poor girl before her.

“Joan,” She called out softly.

Joan’s wide eyes were staring at the other queens in terror. She only looked away because Aragon gently redirects her chin to meet her gaze.

“Focus on me, honey. You were doing so well. Keep breathing.” Aragon says.

Joan tried, but her eyes kept wandering. She saw the faces of the queens and ladies in waiting through a blizzard of white and black–Aragon. Jane. Anne. Cleves. Parr. Maria. Maggie. Bessie. Aragon. Jane. Anne. Cleves. Parr. Aragon. Jane. Anne. Cleves. Parr. Maria. Maggie. Bessie. Henry–

Henry?

A sharp pain lanced in between Joan’s rib bones and her spine arched a little. White light blazed across her vision and she gasped, clutching desperately onto Aragon’s sleeves like she was a drowning woman in the middle of the ocean. All the while she’s sputtering out apologies, which makes the patient queen frown.

“Don’t apologize, darling,” Aragon said, gently brushing her fingers over the girl’s tear-stained cheeks. “You aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Her hand moves to rest on the side of Joan’s torso, just below her breasts, which she makes sure not to touch (it’s out of common decency, but little does she know that the slightest brush of contact would send the poor girl spiraling).

“Breathe in. Ready?”

Joan tried to follow, but it’s incredibly difficult because of the pain, which she realized must be from oxygen starvation. She wasn’t getting enough air and her body was punishing her for it. She winced when her chest contracted and she nearly doubled over.

“Hurts…!”

Aragon lifted the pianist’s chin so they’re making eye contact and she frowned at how glazed over the ice blue eyes were. She moved her other hand to support the back of Joan’s skull, ready to catch or even cradle her if needed.

“I know, honey, I know,” She murmured sadly, “Can you try again? Breathe in,” A hopeful smile cracks on her lips when she hears Joan take in a ragged breath, “That’s very good, darling.”

The praise seemed to help because, slowly but surely, Joan was starting to breathe normally. She ended up curled up in Aragon’s arms, who held her gently, but protectively like a mother bird guarding her chicks. 

Eventually, Joan was completely calm, but she’s clearly very exhausted. It’s been three days without proper sleep, and it’s really taking a toll on her. And, even though she’s scared of what her dreams may have in store for her, she closed her eyes and drifted off into an abyss of guilty horrors.

——

_“They’re never going to forgive you, you know. Not after they hear the full story.”_

_“…”_

_“You were seventeen.”_

_“…”_

_“So tight…”_

_“…”_

_“You liked it. I know you did. Nobody else was ever that noisy and aroused when I got with them.”_

_“…”_

_“You did it for money, you needy little slut.”_

_“…”_

_“You’re a whore. An actual whore. Not any of my wives, not even Bessie. **You**. You are a dirty whore.”_

_“…I know.”_

——

Joan had no idea how much time passed when she woke up, but she felt even more lethargic than before when she hauled herself off of the dressing room couch. When she staggered out into the hallway, she found that the entire theater seemed to be eerily silent. And empty.

Aside from the massive figure at the end of the hallway.

Joan screamed–she couldn’t help it. She ran, but He was there when she turned around to flee. His hands were as big and rough as she remembered. She clawed at them when they groped and pinched her, scratching like there were fire ants crawling all over her body.

“Get off of me!!” She screeched.

“Joan?”

Suddenly, Cathy was there in front of her.

“Woah, Joan. Hey, breathe. You’re having a panic attack.”

“No….no!” Joan cried, finally finding her voice. She thrashed her head around violently. “Henry! Henry is here!!”

Cathy’s concern probably increased by ten when she heard that. She frowned and gently felt Joan’s forehead.

“You’re a little warm… Here, sit down and following my breath–”

Joan went to scream again when she, too, stopped herself. There was blood on one of her hands. Too much blood. Sure, she had been trying to stop Henry from getting into her, but there shouldn’t be this much.

“Oh, Joan…”

“He hurt me,” Joan whimpered. Her knees buckled and she collapsed into Cathy’s arms. “Hurts…!”

Cathy knelt to the floor slowly, then began to inspect Joan’s arms and stomach, which were marred with angry red scratches. Joan whimpered in distress and pawed for one of Cathy’s arms so she could hold onto her, but Cathy kept her leaned back away from her during the examination. 

“Cathy– Hold me–” Joan sobbed.

Cathy hesitated and Joan whimpered, thinking she was going to be denied, but then she’s being tucked against the queen’s chest. She instantly nuzzled into Cathy’s warmth, clinging onto her for dear life.

“Breathe, Joan. Breathe. Follow me.” Cathy lifted Joan’s head so it was properly resting on her chest and she could feel the rise and fall from her own breaths.

Cathy was unsure how she was going to stop the bleeding and get Joan to breathe normally when Cleves suddenly shouted down the hallway. She called her over urgently.

“Anna! Joan’s hurt!”

Even Cleves looked a little pale when she saw the scratches. She didn’t stick around long, running off to get some supplies and the other queens.

“Hallway,” She had said to Aragon and Jane, who were idly conversing (though more to Aragon), “Go the hallway outside the dressing rooms. Joan’s bleeding.”

That was enough to send Aragon to the location as quickly as possible, Jane on her tail. Anne and Kitty caught sight of them and followed.

“Oh my god,” Aragon muttered, gently taking Joan from Cathy. “Joan, baby, what did you do?” She looked at Cathy, “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Cathy admitted. “I found her scratching herself.”

“No,” Joan shook her head, “It was Henry. Henry hurt me. Please–please find him. He’s here.”

The queens exchanged very worried looks. Kitty tottered back into Jane’s arms, suddenly looking very frightened. Cleves came barreling back down the hallway with a stagehand in tow and supplies in hand.

“Honey, Henry is dead.” Aragon said gently, making Cleves perk up a little in interest, since she hadn’t been there for Joan’s outburst.

“He–he was reincarnated. Like us. That’s why I was scratching myself! Here’s here!” Joan’s voice became weaker as she choked on the tears and pain, “He-he was touching me. Here’s going to get us.”

“That makes more sense,” Anne said, then actually scoffed, “But why would he want you?”

“Why would you say something like that?” Kitty added, a slight growl in her voice.

“N-no, I–”

“Joan, honey, there’s no one here. Henry is dead.” Aragon told her, but she just shook her head.

“He is here.” It came out weaker, fainter as lack of oxygen intake started to have an effect on her.

Gentle hands cupped her cheeks and she looked up at Aragon, who had a worried, but fiercely protective look on her face.

“Eyes on me, darling,” Aragon said, “Follow my breathing. Like we’ve been practicing. In,” She took an exaggerated breath, “And out.” She exhaled.

Joan followed for a moment before her eyes darted behind Aragon, like she thought someone may be standing there. She looked back when fingers brushed her cheeks.

“Ah, ah, eyes on me.” Aragon chided gently, stroking some of the young pianist’s hair back. “Can you take another breath for me?”

Joan went to at least try, but instead she yelped sharply when something wet pressed against her right arm. She swung her hand around and nailed the stagehand in the jaw, causing him to reel backwards.

Usually, she would be apologizing immediately, but this was a guy touching her. Terrified fury blazes in her glassy eyes.

“Don’t touch me!” She snarled.

“Joan, sweetie, calm down. Nobody is going to hurt you.” Aragon murmured and the anger snuffed out almost instantly upon hearing the velvety voice.

With the anger, goes the numbness and Joan’s skin burned intensely in pain. She whimpered and pressed her face against Aragon’s shoulder. For a moment, she thought she heard Anne and Kitty scoff.

Aragon began to wipe the scratches adorning her body, and the rag felt like it had dozens of tiny teeth sewn onto it, grinding deep into Joan’s flesh when the blood was cleaned off. At least it was better than the antiseptic, which had made the pianist hiss in pain from the sharp sting that flared through her skin.

By then, she was easing into that dissociative state that usually came after panic attacks. Everything was numb and felt so lucid, but her chest continued to burn with the pain of holding back tears and her much-needed anxiety attack after that traumatic experience. She desperately wanted to cry, to let out all the emotions that came from Henry surely attacking her, but no one would believe her. It would be silly to bother other queens with something that they didn’t even think really happened.

“Are you okay?” Aragon asked softly, but Joan still jumped.

“I…I think I am now.” Joan mumbled, “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me..”

It was Henry. He came over her–literally.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Aragon tucked a loose strand of hair behind the girl’s ear, “Just come find me if you’re having that bad of a flare up, alright? You shouldn’t hurt yourself.”

“I-I didn’t mean to!” Joan yelped, her ears burning red. “I just…panicked…”

“Remember that we’re always here for you, love.” Aragon kissed the top of the girl’s head.

Joan nodded and was helped to her feet by Aragon. Everything spun around a few times before clearing up, but she still had to grasp onto the queen’s shoulder for balance. 

“I don’t think you should go on,” Aragon decided.

“I can still perform!” Joan replied quickly, “I’m fine, really. Just give me a moment…or two…”

She wobbled and Aragon quickly grabbed her, grounding her. At this point, it’s not even the pain that’s making Joan feel like there’s cotton in her head, it’s the sight of Henry’s, whose face keeps flickering behind her eyelids.

“Joan, I really don’t think–”

“Please? I swear I’m fine. Besides, my dep isn’t here to take my place.” Joan said.

Aragon gave in, despite her nagging maternal worry for the young girl.

“Okay, can we now discuss what the fuck Joan said?” Anne said loudly. “What’s up with that? Bringing up our abusive husband. Are you trying to make US have panic attacks, too?”

“What? N-no!” Joan stammered. “I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me… I shouldn’t have said that…”

“Yeah, she shouldn’t have,” Anne growled, “But you still did. Asshole.”

“Watch your tongue.” Aragon warned lowly.

“Cut her some slack, Anne,” Cathy said. “She was freaking out.” 

“She’s always freaking out!” Anne cried. “Seriously! And for over what? Some MD work?” She glared at Joan. “She doesn’t know what it’s like to suffer under Henry.”

But Joan did.

——

Joan was soaked in sweat by the end of the performance and her costume felt like it was glued to her clammy skin. It was strange, really. She didn’t even dance or sing or move around like the queens, she certainly shouldn’t be out of energy, and yet here she was, damp, wet, and feeling leaky all over. The minute bows ended, she was off of that stage and making a beeline for the dressing room.

Joan struggled with her sweat-saturated costume for a few agonizingly long seconds. She wanted to change before Aragon came to check on her, seeing the queen made the guilt unbearable, but her process was halted when she felt a hand press against her back.

The intense fear came rushing back. It’s Henry’s hand. He’s here and he’s going to defile her again. He’s going to make her feel like an even worse person by making her enjoy it like last time. An unbidden whimper escapes the girl’s lips.

“Joan?”

Whose voice was that? It didn’t sound like a man.

“Joan.”

It was so soothing.

“Joan, honey, it’s Jane.”

Jane? That seemed less believable than Henry being there… 

Joan snapped out of her daze, and that sent her reeling from a headrush. She probably would have collapsed if it weren’t for Jane looping an arm around her back and holding her upright. She pushed against the queen a little, but ultimately gave up.

Jane frowned deeply down at Joan and brushed some hair out of Joan’s face. Her eyes widened when she cupped one of Joan’s cheeks.

“Oh dear. Sweetheart, you’re burning up.”

Joan blearily stared up at her for a moment, barely reacting. Then, she moved her head so it would rest on Jane’s soft chest. Shivers start to rack through her achy body, despite still feeling hot and sweaty.

“You need to get home. Come on, let me help you out of that costume.”

Joan really didn’t want Jane to see her in her undergarments, she still didn’t even know why Jane was doing then when she was sure the queen hated her, but there wasn’t much she could do to resist. So she had no other choice but to let the woman undress her. She couldn’t stop herself from trembling, though.

“Shh, shh,” Jane soothed when she heard the poor girl whimper again, “Deep breaths, honey. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m almost done.”

Jane couldn’t help but examine Joan once she got the damp costume off. Not in a sexual, needy way at all, but more in the way of a worried mother checking her child for injuries. 

Strange. She wondered what these scratches down her back were from.

“C-can you turn around? Please?” Joan asked so softly Jane almost missed it.

“Of course, love.”

Jane did as she was asked, giving the frightened girl some privacy to pull her regular clothes back on. She would have left the room completely if it wasn’t for the nagging feeling that she shouldn’t leave Joan alone.

The doorknob suddenly wiggled, and Jane didn’t react fast enough to stop some of the others from bursting inside. Anne was chiming loudly, which just about caused Joan to jump out of her skin.

“Hsst!” Jane hissed, glaring at them and then nodding towards Joan, who was trembling even harder now.

“Oh, woah! Shut your eyes, you guys! Don’t look at little Joey while she’s naked!” Anne yelled, smirking devilishly, which didn’t make the situation any better. By that point, though, Joan was gone.

“Will you shut it?” Jane snapped, “You’re so loud. I’m sure the people left out in the auditorium can still hear you.”

“I was just saying.” Anne fired back.

“We weren’t going to gawk at her.” Cathy spoke up.

“I definitely wouldn’t.” Kitty agreed. “Like there’s anything good to look at.” She and Anne giggled.

“Joan?”

Jane was turned away from the queens and now knelt down in front of Joan, who had managed to wrestle on her clothing (although her shirt was definitely inside out). The girl’s eyes were glazed over and she doesn’t even seem to acknowledge anyone anymore. She was lost in a trance of terror.

“Joan?” Jane tried again, this time louder.

Nothing. Joan continued to just tremble and heave her breaths. Jane picked up one of her hands and placed it against her chest, something she usually only did for Kitty. Kitty noticed this and sneered in envy.

“Joan, can you feel that? That’s my heartbeat. Try to use it to ground yourself, honey.” Jane murmured, rubbing her thumbs over the girl’s knuckles. “You are here. You’re safe, I promise.”

But she wasn’t.

“Joan?”

Joan wheezed, and then her eyes fluttered shut.

“Joan!”

The young pianist fell unconscious into Jane’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> In a book by a well known historian, Joan was written to have an affair with Henry, which is where this fic stems from. It isn't proven entirely, but if a historian wrote about it then I'm taking it as true.


End file.
